


Cause Tonight is Just Fire Alarms and Losing You

by TheGirlWithThePuffHat



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Again, And oh boy does crowley have freckles at the end of this fic, Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has Feelings (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has Nightmares (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has PTSD (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Live Together (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Communication Failure, Crowley Has Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley Has Long Hair (Good Omens), Crowley Has Nightmares (Good Omens), Crowley Has PTSD (Good Omens), Crowley Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Crowley likes having his hair pulled, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Embedded Images, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fanart, Finley Cannot Tag, First Kiss, Getting Together, HUGS GALORE GUYS, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I Wrote This While Listening To Fall Out Boy, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Nightmares, Oh look, Post-Canon, Sharing a Bed, The Author Would Like To Confirm Their Obsession With Fall Out Boy, Touch-Starved Crowley (Good Omens), anyway, freckles are angel kisses, haha that’s a tag now and i’m putting it on all my fics from now on, my boys - Freeform, no really that’s important, oh look it’s the three tags I can’t write a fic without, post-scene: body swap, they’re basically hugging the entire time, they’ve got ptsd from the failed execution and, title is a fall out boy lyric, why the fuck wasn’t that a tag already
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25573531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlWithThePuffHat/pseuds/TheGirlWithThePuffHat
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale both have PTSD after the failed executions. It’s only icing on the cake when they get nightmares too, nightmares that make them doubt their own worth and make them watch the other die the way Heaven and Hell expected them to. They don’t talk about these nightmares until one night, when Crowley accidentally brings it up, and they get something out of the conversation that makes everything worth it.Or:A fic I wanted to write, featuring a whole bunch of Crowley tropes (pining, touch-starved, soft, cuddly, etc.), a whole bunch of hugging and crying, and a love confession 6000 years in the making, because apparently I can’t write a fic without a love confession.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 150





	Cause Tonight is Just Fire Alarms and Losing You

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya, my name is still Finley, I’m still a panromantic, asexual, genderfluid wreck, and I’m still writing Good Omens nonsense! Crowley tropes and cuddling are two things that give me life, so obviously I put them in here, along with my usual too-deep-for-fics-thoughts and analogies.
> 
> The title of this fic is from “Death Valley” by Fall Out Boy.
> 
> There’s some Pining Crowley in here, but it’s more just Crowley and Aziraphale crying and snuggling. And of course, me being me, there’s some random fanart in it somewhere.
> 
> Important notes: Crowley 100% has a Thing for getting his hair pulled, and Aziraphale is chubby and gorgeous and we love him. 
> 
> Okay, that’s it. I hope you like it! :)

_ We are alive _

_ Here in death valley _

_ But don’t take love off the table yet _

_ Cause tonight is just fire alarms _

_ And losing you _

_ We love a lot _

_ So we only lose a little _

_ But we are alive, we are alive, we are alive _

> _ —Death Valley, by Fall Out Boy _

Fire.

Crowley knew it like the back of his hand. It had trailed behind him in the form of wavy hair when he’d been an angel, and it had trailed behind him as he Fell, and he’d landed in it when Hell opened its mouth to swallow him. He’d driven madly away from it and run blindly into it. All of those times, he was either thinking too hard or not thinking at all, and if he thought about  _ that _ too much, it burned his head. 

But there was no fire like the one inside him when he’d taken Aziraphale’s body up to Heaven to save him, when Gabriel had smiled that icy smile and told him (had told Aziraphale) to  _ shut his stupid mouth and die already _ . That fire burned so much hotter than the Hellfire he’d breathed at the Archangels. And the notion that maybe he was glad he’d Fallen, that he was proud he wasn’t one of those jackasses anymore? Well, that was just an ember in comparison.

_ Shut your stupid mouth and die already _ .

Crowley had no bones, no muscles. He was composed of nothing but rage and fancy wine at this point, ready to drop the whole plan, the whole ruse, just to rip the skin off Gabriel’s face.  _ Don’t talk to my angel that way _ , he’d scream.  _ Oh? _ They’d smirk at him.  _ Your angel? You think you’re worth an angel’s affection? You think you’re worth his time, his smiles, his care, his goodness? You think you’re worth that? You think you’re worth anything? _

The answer to that question was  _ no _ . A  _ no _ that flamed maybe the brightest and hottest of all.

Crowley did not think he was worth anything. How he yearned to be, though; how he ached to be the thing Aziraphale thought of when he saw just that shade of red, to be the one who caused him to smile and laugh, to be the one who made him feel the way  _ he _ made  _ Crowley _ feel. How he dreamed of being held, being wanted, being loved, while the certainty that he never would ate him alive and left his skeleton at the door of Aziraphale’s bookshop with a charming grin and a box of chocolates. He wanted to be missed when he left.

_ Shut your stupid mouth and die already. _

_ I don’t even like you. _

_ You go too fast for me, Crowley. _

_ He’s not my friend. We don’t know each other. _

_ No, that wouldn’t be funny at all. _

In Crowley’s nightmares, he and Aziraphale switched back to their own bodies and went to the Ritz, but the next day, when he went to the bookshop, it was aflame again, and Aziraphale was on his knees in the center with the demons of Hell around him, fire licking at his clothes and composure. The demons laughed and jeered at him, and as Crowley ran to help, Ligur grabbed him from behind. 

“This is justice,” the dead Duke growled in his ear. Beelzebub turned to grin at Crowley, and their grin kept widening until it threatened to tear their face, before they gestured and the fire converged on Aziraphale once and for all. The angel didn’t have the chance to scream before his body blackened and disintegrated, the ashes scattering amidst the inferno. The demons vanished. London burned.

_ I am an angel. You are a demon. _

_ Demon. _

_ Demon. _

_ Demon. _

Fire. Fire. Fire. Blaring loudly in his head, melting him, melting his sunglasses and his internal shields, melting his hair down to the lava it mimicked, evaporating his tears before they could forge their path down his face. Beelzebub and Gabriel, laughing, growing bigger, taller, glowing, becoming all-consuming.  _ You thought we wouldn’t figure it out? You thought you were smart? You thought you could make any difference at all? You thought you could win? You thought you mattered? _

_ No. _

_ No. _

_ No. _

Falling had been conscious, a freefall with fires lighting on every atom of his being, and even as he changed and writhed in agony, he was still creating tiny stars that slid off his feathers and burst into fireworks in the sky. Falling had been real, tangible, something to blame, something to point to and say  _ this is why I’m broken _ . 

The nightmares were not conscious. They were horrid things that followed him everywhere, that never stopped chasing him and didn’t stop talking when he turned off the radio. They were demons in every way he wasn’t, haunting him, stalking him, dismembering him even as he laughed and drank and wanted to be okay. Falling was something that had  _ happened _ . The nightmares just  _ were _ , and they were a thing that had no place, a thing that may as well be Crowley’s shadow because they never left him alone. They didn’t even wait for him to sleep.

They just burned him up.

...oOo…

Water.

Aziraphale was familiar with water the way he was familiar with his own reflection. It had been around since Earth’s early days, constant, everywhere. He had stepped into it when he’d arrived in Eden and had turned his face to it when it fell from the sky. He had trudged through it and gazed into it, had endured it while it boiled or froze. He’d watched it sheet down in a storm to flood the planet and destroy humanity and humanity’s ashes, and he swam through those thoughts no matter how much he wanted to question it, because the more he questioned it, the more it drowned him.

But there was no storm like the one inside him when he’d borrowed Crowley’s body to go to Hell in order to save the demon’s life, where he’d been drenched by the frigid indifference of Beelzebub and the dripping, leering grins of the demons watching, when he’d stared into the bathtub Crowley would have died in and tried to keep his head above the waters of panic. He’d hoped his trial, for Crowley’s sake, was better than the one the demons half-attempted to give him. 

He’d had half a mind to reveal himself right then, to demand that Hell give Crowley the trial he deserved, to threaten them like a true angel would.  _ Oh _ , they’d say, baring their fangs.  _ You think you’re a true angel? You think you’re worthy of standing beside the others? You think you’re equal? You think Crowley would appreciate you doing that? You think you matter to him? You think you matter to anyone? _

Aziraphale was an angel. He could not lie. Therefore he could not answer those questions with anything but  _ no _ , and it was a  _ no _ that flooded every corner of his existence.

Aziraphale did not think he mattered very much at all. He wished he did, though; oh, how he longed to be what Crowley thought of when he heard the rustle of paper, the one who made him grin and close his eyes and feel safe, to make him feel the way he made Aziraphale feel. How he itched to feel treasured, worthwhile, adequate, while the certainty that he wasn’t drowned him anyway, and left his remains in the passenger seat of Crowley’s Bentley with tickets to a musical and a fussy comment about his driving.

_ When I’m off in the stars, I won’t even think about you. _

_ I’m not nice. _

_ Unforgivable, it’s what I am. _

_ It’s not that bad once you get used to it. _

_ If my lot ever heard I’d rescued an angel… _

_ I’ve got plenty of people to fraternize with. _

_ Giving the mortals a flaming sword, how’d that work out for you? _

Aziraphale’s nightmares began differently every time. He was going about his day, maybe taking a walk, maybe reshelving books, when he picked up the sense that something was wrong with Crowley and headed over to Mayfair, but when he got to the demon’s flat, water poured out through the door as though the entire flat was flooded, and it smelled like ozone and the cold. The angels stood calmly as the holy water crept higher, and watched mockingly as Crowley barely managed to balance on one of his higher shelves. Aziraphale moved to help him, but Gabriel grabbed him and held his arms behind his back, so roughly it likely dislocated Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“This is justice,” the Archangel hissed, and Aziraphale could do nothing as Michael pointed at Crowley. Sandalphon pushed the bookshelf over, and Crowley toppled into the holy water, not even having time to cry out before he sizzled, folded in on himself, and vanished forever. The angels disappeared. London drowned.

_ You’re an angel. I don’t think you can do the wrong thing. _

_ Angel. _

_ Angel. _

_ Angel. _

Water, water, water. Pouring over his head, washing him out, washing away all of his colors and individuality and purpose, crashing like a tsunami into his bookshelves and chaotically organized life, wearing him out, pulling him down. Gabriel and Beelzebub, snickering, growing until the universe could barely contain them, their auras conflicting and complementing each other in the same condescending light.  _ You thought we wouldn’t figure it out? You thought you were good enough to trick us? You thought you had a chance to help him? You thought you had a chance at all? You thought you had anything? _

_ No. _

_ No. _

_ No. _

Giving away the sword had been conscious, had been easy; there was a difference between loopholes and questioning the Almighty. Aziraphale hadn’t asked before he gave the sword to Adam and Eve, and he hadn’t really thought about it as time passed. It was like tossing a stone into a pond: eventually, the ripples vanished, even if the stone remained at the bottom of the pond forever. The sword had been real, tangible, something to use as a pinpoint to say  _ here, this is where I began to doubt myself _ . 

The nightmares were not conscious. They were vengeful things that hovered over him everywhere he went, that didn’t have to chase him because he couldn’t run from them. They were angels in every way Aziraphale was not: unafraid, unyielding, watching him as he smiled and read and wanted to be okay. Giving away the sword had  _ happened _ . The nightmares just  _ were _ , and they were everywhere, all through time and space, something that couldn’t even be compared to a shadow because they never went away. They didn’t even wait for him to lose his breath.

They just drowned him.

...oOo...

Crowley had taken to sleeping in the flat above the bookshop after its restoration. They’d stayed one night at his place in Mayfair and, after they’d both gotten a taste of Heaven, had decided together that Crowley’s flat was far too open and empty. Aziraphale had mentally compared his bookshop to Hell and wondered if he and Crowley had subconsciously decorated their living spaces to be the opposite of their sides. 

The bookshop was its own world, though. It was  _ theirs _ . It had Aziraphale’s books and Crowley’s plants and all of their shared memories. Crowley would wake up and smile and saunter vaguely in the direction of the kitchen, where his angel would gesture to a mug of coffee (they had matching mugs: Aziraphale had a white one with angel wings, and Crowley had a black one with a tail for a handle) with a warm smile. And for a moment, maybe they were both as okay as they strived to be.

Then Crowley would see or hear or feel something that brought all of the memories crashing back in, a forest fire that burned so brightly the sun went out, and he would go and wrap his arms around Aziraphale’s perfect, soft middle and try to remember how to breathe. And Aziraphale would hug him back, and not question him, because he was an angel and angels did not ask questions, and Crowley never gave a reason for these spontaneous hugs. If they ever came up, he just gave a lopsided grin and said he was glad he  _ could _ hug Aziraphale now.

Aziraphale looked as though he didn’t believe him. Crowley wanted to pour his heart out, but held himself back; gushed hearts would be a right mess to clean up.

This morning, Crowley woke up smelling smoke. He choked on the memory of it, on the vision of Beelzebub’s burning eyes and the demons’ laughter and Aziraphale crumbling and  _ you don’t matter _ , and didn’t realize he was crying until he found himself enfolded by Aziraphale’s arms. He loved Aziraphale’s arms, because their shape was just  _ so good _ at lying to him that he fit somewhere, and if he closed his eyes tight enough, he could almost believe it. 

“My dear,” the angel breathed, and his voice was a bit wobbly, as though he was crying too. “Crowley, what’s wrong?”

“Nothin. ‘M fine, angel. Look at you, all worried about me. How embarrassing.”

“Yes. I’m dreadfully humiliated. Now, my dear boy, please tell me why you’re crying. I do hope there’s some way I can help.”

“Can’t. Just. Hold me,” Crowley relented, letting himself fall yet again, right into the warm expanse of Aziraphale’s chest. “Lie to me.”

“Lie to you? Why in the world would I do that?” Aziraphale adjusted Crowley in his arms so that he could lean against the headboard with the demon snuggled up against him. It was dangerously warm this close to the angel, Crowley soon found, and this was the only warmth he could take without finding himself in a raging inferno.

“Just. Tell me I’m important, or that it’ll all be okay, or that you care about me, or that I’m worth anything. Yaknow. Lie to me.” Crowley burrowed deeper into the warmth, pressing his entire thin, gangly body against the wonderful softness of Aziraphale’s. “Tell me things that aren’t true, but that would make me almost feel better.”

“Okay, I will tell you things that aren’t true. First: I regret meeting you. Nothing more untrue than that. Second: I am perfectly fine. That’s a pretty big lie. Third: I think you are perfectly reasonable thinking you’re not important. That might be the biggest lie ever. Crowley,  _ really _ . You think I don’t care about you?”

“You said,” sobbed Crowley. “You said you didn’t even like me. So I jus’... assumed, yaknow. Assumed you didn’t care at all in the first place. Assumed you also meant what you said in 1601, and in 1862, and—”

“What did I say in 1601?” Aziraphale paused his stroking of Crowley’s hair, and Crowley whined pathetically until he resumed the soothing motion.

“You said ‘he’s not my friend.’ And in 1862 you said ‘I don’t need you.’ And it just. It just. Kinda made me feel a little bit. Little bit worthless. Little bit unlovable. On top of Heaven and then Hell already making me feel that way.” Crowley leaned into the fingers scratching at his scalp and hummed in pleasure, but was jostled when Aziraphale’s body shook with a sob of his own.

“Crowley,” he managed. “All these years, you took those things personally? I said those things because I wanted to make sure Heaven and Hell didn’t hurt you for being my friend.  _ Of course _ I like you, dear. Of  _ course _ I need you.”

Crowley squeezed him tightly and shook his head rapidly.

“You can’t.” His voice was thick with emotion. “Can’t, angel. You’re so perfect and good and nice and perfect, and I’m jus’ trying to convince you—”  _ and myself  _ “—that ’m a good friend, or that ‘m worth it when you smile at me, and you can’t just. You can’t just go and  _ say _ that, angel.”

Aziraphale was silent for a long moment, still running his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

“I’m going to need a minute to process everything you just said, dearest,” he said softly.

“Don’t wanna go too fast,” Crowley agreed. “Keep holding me? Please? Forever?”

“Of course.” Aziraphale’s hand moved a bit more firmly through the red sea of hair, and Crowley arched into the touch with a soft sound and gently closed eyes, tipping his head back to push his head against the angel’s hand. 

“Mmm. Again.” Crowley said, lips moving against Aziraphale’s stomach. It tickled, and Aziraphale chuckled as he moved his other hand to the demon’s head, being the slightest bit rougher in his act of combing through his hair, smiling at the hums and shivers it elicited. 

They lay there for what was probably most of the day, Crowley clinging to Aziraphale and all but purring as Aziraphale threaded his fingers through his long hair (he was growing it back out), and Aziraphale slowly allowing himself to hope that maybe he did fit here, maybe Crowley did care about him, maybe, maybe, maybe. For the first time in a while, he wasn’t drowning. He was floating.

“My dear, do you want to go to dinner?” Aziraphale whispered as evening approached.

“Nah. Nightmares can’t get me like this,” Crowley mumbled.

“Nightmares?” Aziraphale blood froze, and Crowley’s boiled. Both of them realized there was no real way out of this now, and Crowley adjusted himself to face his angel, still pressing their bodies close together on top of the covers, because touch was the kind of fire that didn’t need to consume everything to burn brightly, because despite the raging flames inside him, he felt as though he’d freeze if he lost this contact. Aziraphale moved his arms to hold Crowley securely against him. The wave of safety that resulted from this was neither a tsunami or a volcano, but something in between that  _ worked _ , that  _ fit _ ; something that made them both relax.

“Nightmares, angel. Horrible ones. Hellfire, and Ligur and Beelzebub, and the bookshop, and I couldn’t save you.” He choked up again and pressed forward to hide his face in Aziraphale’s neck. “Every night. Every day. ‘M just about dying.”

“My nightmares are about your trial in Hell,” Aziraphale explained, fisting Crowley’s hair in his hands again. Sparks shot down the demon’s spine and didn’t fizzle out, because Aziraphale didn’t withdraw his fingers; he shivered from head to toe. “And they figured out what we’d done and took you, and I got there too late, and you were standing on a bookshelf; your flat was flooded with holy water, and then you were gone forever, and they said such awful things, and all I could hear was pieces of things you’d said to me in the past, things that suggested I didn’t matter to you.” He sniffed and gave Crowley’s hair another tug. “That I didn’t matter to anyone.”

“Woah, woah,  _ woah _ .” Crowley looked up at the constellation of tears on Aziraphale’s eyelashes. “Angel, you’re… angel, you. You’re the most important thing. You’re my best friend, ‘n that’s why I didn’t go to Alpha Centauri, ‘n that’s why I was having that breakdown in that bar, because the bookshop had burned down ‘n I thought you were gone, ‘n the last thing I said to you woulda been that I wouldn’t even think about you when I was off in the stars. ‘S a lie, by the way. Woulda thought about you every bloody second.”

Tears were streaming down both of their faces now. 

“My dear,” Aziraphale whispered. “Then you must understand how I felt when you told me to lie to you about your worth. You are the most important thing in the world to me as well. And not only are you my best friend, you’re my only friend, and I—” he cut himself off. 

“And you what?” Crowley’s heart was beating nothing but fire, fire, fire. 

“Oh, it’s nothing, dear boy. I must’ve misspoken.” Freezing water now. Crowley lifted his hand and touched Aziraphale’s, still in his hair.

“I’m gonna. Say some things. Things. Yep. I like this, the closeness. Being close to you. Want to be close to you all the time now. Never want to let go again. Want to snuggle you all day, until you believe you matter as much as you matter to me. Want to. Want you to love me back.” He whispered the last part, so softly Aziraphale would not have heard if he hadn’t been two inches from Crowley. He became aware of the weight of Crowley against him, of the way their fingers were half-laced in his fiery hair. He gave it another slow rake-through with his fingers, and Crowley’s body seemed to sag with bliss.

“Dear boy, I  _ do _ love you,” Aziraphale said in surprise. Fire, fire, fire, and Crowley’s eyes widened comically as he pulled back enough to stare his angel in the face.

“What.”

“Of course I love you, you silly thing! How could I not?”

“What.”

“ _ Honestly _ , Crowley, you shouldn’t wear those sunglasses all the time. They seem to have obscured your view of what has been right in front of you. Of course I love you. We’ve been best friends for six thousand years, for Somebody’s sake; you’ve been the  _ only _ constant, and now you think  _ I don’t love you? _ ”

“ _ What _ .”

“Goodness gracious, my dear!” Aziraphale exclaimed, leaned forward quickly, and pressed the briefest of kisses to Crowley’s lips. “How foolish of me. You can’t sense love the way I can. Yes, Crowley, I love you very much.”

“You. You. What.” Crowley was shaking now, Aziraphale noticed, tears welling up in his eyes yet again. The love radiating from him increased tenfold.

“I love you.”

Crowley tapped his thin lips with two trembling fingers. “Again.”

Aziraphale went in for another quick kiss, intending to sit back as soon as he’d leaned forward, but this time Crowley latched onto him like a life preserver in the middle of the ocean and pulled his head down, as though Aziraphale was air and Crowley was drowning, or maybe as though Aziraphale was rain and Crowley was burning. The kiss had the inevitable awkwardness of first kisses, as a combination of the odd angle of Aziraphale’s head and the almost ferocious hunger Crowley poured into every movement, but neither of them would’ve had it any other way.

When Aziraphale’s neck began to ache, he moved away, and Crowley sucked in a shuddering breath that caused his entire body to spasm.

“Again,” he gasped out. “Again, again, again, again, again.”

Aziraphale smiled fondly down at him, bonelessly splayed out on the bed, his arms extended across the pillows and his beautiful snake eyes wide and pleading, the love spilling from every atom of his being; it flooded the world, and Aziraphale was without a doubt drowning in it, but he did so with a smile on his face as he pulled Crowley in and kissed him again.

Crowley kissed back with the same ravenous urgency as before, as though he would never get enough, but began to smile and broke away to grin at Aziraphale.

“‘M so in love with you,” he said dreamily. “Want to be all coupley with you. Hug you. Kiss you. Hold your hand. Listen to you complain about customers. Wanna make you happy.”

“You already make me so happy, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered into his demon’s hair. 

The nightmares didn’t go away, really, but from that night onward, whenever they came, Aziraphale and Crowley simply awoke and held each other tightly, fire and rain, but neither quenched the other. They would lay awake until dawn, whispering their love on repeat, because they could, because Heaven and Hell were not going to bother them, because  _ they were free _ .

Crowley, having spent six thousand years convincing himself that he would never deserve or receive Aziraphale’s love, sometimes forgot he could show his affection. This led to him gasping loudly and excitedly rushing across the bookshop to pepper Aziraphale’s face with kisses, or swinging their joined hands proudly between them as they walked, and maybe the most common one: no matter where they were, sometimes multiple times a day, the following could be overheard:

“Hey, angel?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I love you.”

Aziraphale, on the other hand, took Crowley’s constant affection and his need to be touched in stride. He picked up on how elated the demon was whenever Aziraphale did anything like peck him on the cheek or squeeze his hand, and especially how he loved to be kissed very thoroughly whenever possible. 

His reactions to Crowley’s sudden remembrances varied. Sometimes he just smiled fondly and said  _ I love you too.  _ Sometimes he laughed and opened his arms. Sometimes he grabbed Crowley by that odd tasseled string around his neck, slammed him into the nearest wall so his legs trembled, and kissed him until their corporations were likely to just merge their mouths permanently. Crowley probably wouldn’t have complained. In fact, it would probably be one of the best things to happen to him.

Crowley woke up one morning, caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror, and found himself absolutely  _ covered _ in freckles. Freckles all over his face, his neck, his hands, his arms, his chest, his back. He grinned at his reflection for a solid minute before rushing back into the bedroom, still shirtless, and loudly proclaimed:  _ “Angel kisses!” _ to a slightly confused Aziraphale. 

“Yes, dear,” he agreed. “You have indeed been kissed by an angel.”

“Would the angel be opposed to some more kissing?” Crowley asked hopefully.

“You silly serpent,” Aziraphale chided, and the next thing Crowley knew he was on his back with a warm mouth sliding into place against his. 

“Can I get freckles on my tongue?” Crowley asked, voice muffled by the fact that he was speaking directly into Aziraphale’s lips. “Doesn’t matter. I love you.”

Their world had been full of storms: hurricanes of doubt, tornados of caution, tempests of chaos; they were a storm themselves. And there are two things you can do when a storm strikes: wait until it passes, or learn how to dance in the rain.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. I hope everyone’s having a good day! :)


End file.
